


You Catch More With Honey, Darling

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Newt Scamander, Lingerie, M/M, Mummy kink, Newt trying to flirt, Smut, Some Fluff, Some Plot, Top Original Percival Graves, saving beasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: Newt tries to venture out of his comfort zone, and catches Percival's attention.
Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Comments: 10
Kudos: 486
Collections: Fantastic Beasts and where to find them, Most Favs





	You Catch More With Honey, Darling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/gifts).



> @essa idk if you remember but I said I'd write you gramander _ages_ ago and basically this is it (ﾟдﾟ；)  
> I hope you like it (///Σ///)
> 
> Audi thank you so much to [RedHorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse) for betaing this for me ❤️😘

There was widening your horizons, and then there was this. If someone—anyone who knew Newt, really—had been told he'd find himself in this situation, they'd probably have laughed themselves sick. Because Newt didn't _do_ things like this. He was awkward and never knew what to say and always wore his blue coat, even when it was warm out. He rarely looked anyone in the eyes, even when he knew them well, and almost exclusively preferred the company of his beasts to that of other people. He'd travelled all around the world, seen the wildest jungles and steepest mountain-sides, and yet he'd still managed to find himself in a situation that was completely new to him—Newt had stepped into a bar maybe _once_ in his adult life, and yet here he was.

Everything about this scenario was very unlike him. He felt positively naked and absolutely transparent—not only was he wearing clothes that fit so tightly that he could see the flexing of his own calves through his trousers, but he'd never been a very good liar either. Theseus often told him how Newt's every emotion was always displayed clearly on his face, despite numerous attempts at hiding them. When he was younger, his mother need only take one look at him to know he'd found yet another injured animal and hidden it in his room somewhere.

So he was afraid of being found out, of the man next to him taking one good look at him and declaring him false. But even though Newt had never felt more awkward, he was also _determined_. If the intel was right—and it usually was—then this man was interested in the silver shells of Occamy eggs, and the people he was buying them from had peaked Newt's interest. Normally, though the handling of the Occamy was restricted to professionals only, there was no harm in selling off the shells after the egg had hatched for a little extra money.

Of course, occasionally you'd get a whole one—an unfertilised egg, left in the nest long after the others had hatched. But those were rare, and that was why the sheer _amount_ of unhatched eggs on the market concerned Newt. There was something else going on, and he didn't like it.

And so, knowing the identity of only this one man, Newt had dressed himself up and gone along to the bar the stranger frequented, hoping to wheedle a few names and a place out of him.

And he'd been doing okay too—fluttering his eyelashes and smiling sweetly at the man, just like Queenie had coached him to do. "You don't even need to look at them, really," she'd told him, "or say much. As long as you smile and laugh, and maybe touch his hand a little, he'll think you shy instead of uncomfortable."

Newt had done exactly that; looked at him from beneath his lashes and let the man come to Newt instead of going to him. The stranger introduced himself as Balthazar, and Newt couldn't help but feel oddly warm when he leaned in close and brought Newt a drink. It was flattering, yes, but more than that, the attention of this man made him feel wanted and attractive in a way he didn't usually feel.

Of course, usually Newt felt no need to appear attractive—after all, his beasts only cared about how kind he was, whether or not he fed them and how he treated their injuries. They couldn't care less for conventional human beauty, and Newt had found himself content in their company and standards.

So why did he feel so pleased with the attention now?

Balthazar put his hand on Newt's thigh, scarily close to where it met his hip. His hand was warm, large, and slid to the inseam of his trousers so slowly that Newt might have missed it had he not been so hyper-aware. His mouth was close, close enough that he could feel Balthazar's breath on his lips, and for a split second Newt wondered if the man would be able to feel his rather _unconventional_ underwear through his trousers. Then he spotted the slip of paper in the man's pocket, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached out and took it.

A good thing too, because it was at that very moment that the _other_ man approached.

* * *

He was young, his face sweet and open in a way that made Percival sure he wasn't the type to hook up. He looked like he got invested easily, like he'd fall in love at the drop of a hat if he let himself. It pleased Percival so much that, before he even knew what he was doing, he'd gotten up to approach the stranger.

The man tried to seem aloof to Percival. He looked at him for a second as Percival came to stand beside him, like it was a reflex, and then turned his attention back to the man next to him as if Percival wasn't even there. And that might've been the end of Percival's attempt to woo him, except that—for all that he pretended to be unaffected—the darling boy was blushing. Violently. And, upon closer inspection, Percival realised he couldn't even focus on his partner properly at all—the other gentleman might as well have been a plant, for all the regard given him.

Instead, he seemed fully focused on Percival, even as he pretended to listen to the other man. His eyes had gone a little hazy, and every time Percival shifted, the stranger shifted in response. Like he was ever-aware of him, moving opposite and in reply to Percival without meaning to.

He'd never met someone so transparent before, nor someone so blatantly attracted to him. And he wasn't an ugly man—in fact, Percival was quite handsome, and his job as an Auror meant he was physically fit too. He was an accomplished Auror from a respectable family and well-off, to boot—not a bad suitor at all. But though he'd had to fend of plenty of admirers throughout his adult life, none had been so obviously—so _helplessly_ —interested in him. It made him feel confident in a way that was new and intoxicating, and it was the only reason Percival persisted in his attentions.

"Can I have a name?" he asked, bending so he was closer, and putting himself between the two men as if by accident. The darling blinked at him through his long auburn lashes, his eyes wide and so, so clear, and when Percival let his hand fall to the man's thigh, he shivered a little.

"Artemis," he said, obviously a lie, but Percival let it slide. It'd do for now.

Instead he repeated, "Artemis," a smile on his face. Then again, "Artemis, can I buy you a drink?"

The other man—blond, some part of Percival noted now, with a bend to his nose like it'd broken and healed wrong—made an unhappy sound. He got up, looking at Percival like he'd personally offended him, and walked off. Artemis seemed to snap out of his daze then, turning to look after the man and even standing up, ready to run after him. It made something peculiar rise in Percival's stomach, something sour. He touched Artemis' wrist to get his attention.

The man's eyes were wide and somewhere at the edge of panic when he turned towards Percival. He looked like he'd made a terrible mistake. He looked like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"You didn't want him," Percival said, sure, and yet aware that it sounded like a question. Artemis shook his head, his brow furrowing the slightest bit. He looked down and away, lips pursed in thought, and then seemed to change right before Percival. His back straightened, and a strangely determined glint formed in his eye. He looked at Percival—or at Percival's chest—and took a step back. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice lovely and sweet and gentle. "I've got to go."

And then he turned, leaned down to grab an old brown suitcase Percival had somehow missed, and left the building.

Percival stood, stunned, for a brief second. He was a little hurt at being rejected so soundly, and briefly considered having read the signs all wrong. But more than that, his sense of unease, of _something amiss_ won out. There was something _more_ going on here, and wasn't it his duty as an Auror to make sure there was nothing illicit afoot?

And so, with barely a second's hesitation, Percival followed the young man out of the bar.

* * *

It didn't take long for Newt to find the address on the slip of paper—a warehouse in downtown New York. The streets outside were empty and silent, and though Newt watched the building for a long, careful while, he found no signs of life inside. Five years ago, Newt might have doubted whether or not this was the right place, but by now he was an old hand at this. He'd broken into a multitude of operations just like this one, and really, they weren't all that different when you got down to it.

After Disillusioning himself, he went around the building and looked for a back entrance. He finally found one in a small alleyway towards the left of the warehouse, but when he stared he realised there was a man standing there. Newt supposed he was a guard or lookout, but then the man looked in his general direction and oh, it was the man from the bar! Percival, his eyes narrowed and, Newt suspected, clearly waiting for him.

How had he known Newt would be here?

For a long moment, he panicked silently. Had he been too obvious, or left evidence behind? Was this man in league with Balthazar, perhaps one of the sellers come to check out the buyer's authenticity? But no, the man hadn't struck him as a cruel or immoral sort, and though he was not the most sociable of character, he _did_ tend to have a good sense of what a man was capable of.

It said a lot about a person, after all—how they treated other living creatures.

But even so, Newt didn't want to take the risk. And he was ready to find some other way in, a window or skylight, when Percival turned just _so_ and saw him move. It was slight, but it was enough. The man looked left, then right, and then strode straight towards Newt as if he wasn't hiding under a Disillusionment charm. 

And Newt couldn't run—Percival was looking right at him, and Newt needed to be _here_. So he let the man approach, and then dragged him behind a dumpster and out of sight. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, removing the charm and shuddering at the uncomfortable sensation.

Percival slipped something from his pocket, then flipped it open to show his badge. Newt froze in awkward surprise—Percival Graves, it seemed, was an Auror.

"I think the question is, what are _you_ doing here?"

Newt bit his lip, staring at the badge, and didn't answer. Percival snapped the leather closed again and waited until Newt looked back at him. "Following someone from a bar? You're looking a little suspicious, Mr Artemis," he said.

Newt fidgeted nervously, frowning. "I've done nothing wrong," he insisted, unsure about what to do. He needed to get away from this man, but he _also_ needed to get into the very warehouse they were crouched next to. And he wasn't about to let the Auror know what he was doing—MACUSA didn't have the best track record with illegal creature traders, after all.

But the man wouldn't leave. He crowded Newt up against the wall, so close that Newt could feel the heat radiating from his body. It felt like he blocked out the entire world just by putting his arms on either side of Newt, not because he was taller—in fact, Newt might well be taller than _him_ —but because he was much broader. He was well-muscled where Newt was skin and bone, and his very presence seemed much like a force of its own, making him appear much larger to Newt than he actually was.

"What would a man like you be doing in a place like this?" Percival was saying, but Newt was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. He nearly lost himself in the movement of Percival's mouth, in the vague smell of his cologne, the roughness of his stubble as it brushed against his cheek. There was a sense of urgency, of course, and a sense of rising panic as time slipped away from Newt, but Percival was so close that Newt felt overwhelmed with just how attracted he was to the Auror.

Desire like this didn't come very often for him.

But there were more important things afoot. He cut Percival off halfway through a sentence he hadn't been listening to, shoving him back rather harshly, and slipping around so his back wasn't against the wall anymore. "I don't have time for this," he said, attempting to sound stern. By the unimpressed eyebrow the man raised, he wasn't managing so well.

Not that it changed anything. Newt stepped back, creating some space between them. He slipped his hand in his pocket again to grab his wand and, without another word, turned on his heel.

Except that the Auror seemed to have anticipated Newt's actions, and grabbed onto his forearm at the last second. Instead of Apparating smoothly onto the roof, Newt stumbled awkwardly with an unexpected passenger on board until they were both crouching just a little bit from the skylight he'd hoped would be there.

"What are you _doing_?" he said, shaking Percival's grip, but the man wasn't paying any attention to him anymore. Instead, he'd gone over to look into the warehouse, and when Newt joined him, he understood exactly what was holding the Auror's attention.

The room was filled with heavy glass cages, most empty, but some not so much. They looked thick and reinforced, and from what Newt could tell, holding at least four mating Occamy pairs. The room was dark, and seemed unoccupied by any human life. Newt guessed the people were in another part of the warehouse, and ideally he'd have been able to go in and out without anyone ever being the wiser.

But there was Percival, and the man was now looking at Newt shrewdly, lips pursed in a surprisingly endearing scowl.

"What's the meaning of this, Mr Artemis?" he asked.

Newt sighed, slipping his wand from his pocket and nudging Percival out of the way. "It's Newt," he replied, "or Mr Scamander, if you must. Now," and he waved his wand, unlocking the window and pushing it open, "you can either help me, or pretend you didn't see anything."

Percival was quiet for a while, but he grabbed Newt's wrist just as he slid his legs over the edge. "I expect an explanation after, Mr Scamander," he demanded. Then, "Let me enter first."

His touch was warm, his hands rough and large and so very _capable_ looking. Newt had done plenty of things with his hands. He'd fought poachers and suffered bites and pet traumatised creatures until they were scarred and rough and dark. Even then they didn't look half as strong as Percival's hands, didn't look nearly as dependable. It made him flush, made his cheeks heat so uncomfortably that Newt could almost _feel_ the red on his cheeks.

He didn't argue, and moved back to let Percival drop down first. And thank Merlin he did. Percival went and stood by the door, and it was while Newt dropped down himself that the doorknob turned.

The door didn't open. Percival looked back at him, and motioned for him to hurry. Outside, Newt could already hear the ruckus start, and saw Percival shoot a few of the more advanced locking and shield charms at the door. He turned to the first cage, undoing the spells holding the top of the cage shut, and gently reached out to the terrified beasts within.

They'd gone small at the sight of him, except for one of the mothers, who just pushed deeper into her nest. Newt wondered how many of her eggs had been stolen from her, and felt a familiar mix of sorrow and anger burn in his chest.

Of course, he didn't let it show. His demeanor was calm, pleasant and easy as he coaxed the Occamy into his case, tempting them with treats as he did. "Come on," he murmured sweetly, ignoring the fray outside the room, failing to ignore Percival's burning stare on his back. "Come to mummy."

And then the door burst open.

* * *

He'd been distracted, too busy watching the curve of Newt's back and the way his shirt was riding up to reveal pale, freckled skin. Percival had gotten the impression that Newt wasn't in the habit of wearing clothes such as these—he had seemed ill at ease in the bar and then again, later, when Percival had tried to interrogate him. But he seemed completely unaware of his discomfort now, enamoured with the Occamy he was helping, and it was incredibly charming.

And perhaps it was only because of his rapt stare, but then Newt shifted—opened his briefcase to let the creatures jump in. Percival thought—like an aborted, half-impression, that he should ask about it. And he might have, except all of his attention was grabbed and held prisoner by the tiny, almost imperceptible scrap of lace that peeked from the waist of the man's trousers. He stared, his eyes tracing the patterns of silk and thread with such focus that Percival almost forgot about the banging on the door.

It was dark pink—an innocent and almost girlish colour, and simple in its pattern. Like he didn't really intend to show anyone, or—Percival thought faintly—like he'd picked up the first set he saw, too embarrassed to browse properly. Percival was struck with the desire to see them properly, for Newt to slide down his black trousers and show him the way the lace stretched across his skin and his behind and his cock.

He felt a little like he was in a dream, a fantasy of some sort, and then he saw Newt lean closer and whisper, "Come to mummy," and something inside him snapped.

Later, he wouldn't be sure if it really had been something inside him, or just the loud crack of the door splintering at the hinges, because at that moment, all other thoughts flew out of his head. He turned sharply, back straight, wand at the ready as easily as breathing, and then he was flinging charms and hexes and curses alike. The men were large and brutish, but Percival could tell almost immediately that they weren't trained for combat. They'd probably been kept just for intimidation. Too bad Percival wasn't one to be intimidated very easily.

He had them bound and gagged within minutes, and turned to see Newt standing in a shadowed corner with his briefcase clutched to his chest. In that moment, Percival had a choice to make, and surprisingly enough, it wasn't a very hard one.

He signalled at Newt discreetly, and Newt ran.

* * *

Percival found him again a couple of hours from then in a small, quaint café. Newt sat nursing a cup of tea, his suitcase at his feet, and watched as Percival approached him determinedly. He looked tired. Newt supposed that was understandable—he'd watched for a while as Aurors descended on the warehouse, and it had seemed a busy affair.

The man sat next to him without invitation, though that too was very much implied. Newt had, after all, made no effort to disappear. He could have, and Merlin knew he _should_ have, but he wanted too much to see Percival. Though if Newt was honest, not even he could say why. All he could say was that Percival made something hungry inside him open its maw, and Newt didn't have the will or desire to deny it. So he let Percival sit next to him, sipping his tea all the while as if he didn't notice the way the man's hand came to rest on his thigh. He pretended he didn't notice the way Percival's hand slid up, up and around his hip, until it was resting on his lower back, his mouth at Newt's ear.

"You're quite the individual, Mr Scamander," Percival said eventually. His voice was husky, deep, and it made Newt shiver and go red.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked. Percival's hand was at his waistline now, his pinky stroking ever-so-gently across the line of his belt.

The Auror's other hand came to rest on Newt's knee, the one further from Percival, and he used the grip to pull him closer. "It's illegal to keep unlicensed magical creatures," he murmured. "It's also illegal to put unlicensed extension charms on any object."

Newt didn't reply, finding it hard to focus on anything except how warm Percival was. He lifted his cup again, and found that his hands were trembling. Percival's fingers strayed further, just under his waistline, and trailed along the edge of his underwear meaningfully.

Newt turned to look at him then, or at least his mouth, which was curved in the slightest of smiles. He felt an answering smile come upon his own lips, and felt then like he and Percival were in their own world. Percival's arms were blocking him from all of the other patrons, and Newt sensed that—whatever he did now, he wouldn't be judged.

So he put one hand on Percival's chest, arched his back into Percival's hand, and said, "Could I not convince you to ignore my infractions, Auror Graves?"

He dared a glance up at Percival's face, and found his eyes had gone dark and lust-blown. He was toying with the lace of Newt's underwear now, fingers hooking into the edge and rubbing across the tiny patterns with fascination. His hand felt big, like it spanned more skin than it actually did, and Newt found himself basking in the attention.

"I'm going to take you home, darling,” Percival replied. Newt let him.

* * *

Percival Graves came across to all as patient and cool-headed, calm to the point of aloofness, sometimes. Which was not to say that he was uncaring, or that he was inattentive—in fact, it was clear to all who knew him that he was the very opposite, paying attention to even the smallest details. But, in the opinions of the same people, it would be incredibly unlikely for Percival to ever lose his cool.

_That_ Percival Graves was not the one that took Newt home. _This_ Percival Graves pushed Newt up against the door the very moment they entered and kissed him for all he was worth. His hands roamed Newt's body like he was an instrument, and Percival an experienced player. His palms were rough and warm on Newt's skin as they slid up his shirt, and he kissed so wonderfully that Newt thought he might well become addicted to Percival's lips if this went on for much longer.

Percival grabbed him by the hips, his grip sure and strong. Newt wrapped his arms and legs about the man, and let himself be carried to the rather large bedroom, onto the soft bed which was large enough to fit four men, side by side. He looked at Percival, who was loosening his tie with one hand, and thought that perhaps this wasn't a man of few pleasures as much as this was a man of hidden, more private pleasures, and this suited Newt just fine.

He watched with hooded eyes as Percival unbuttoned the outer layer of his uniform—the red Auror's robe—to reveal his plain white shirt and black slacks. They were well-fitted to his form, unlike the loose robes he wore while on duty, and Newt couldn't help but admire his very _toned_ physique—strong, muscled biceps and an equally lean chest, leading down to a trim waist and thick thighs. His eyes wandered to the space between Percival's legs, and he felt his mouth go wet thinking about the bulge there.

Percival unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing his clavicle to Newt's rapt gaze, and then folded his sleeves up with meticulous attention. His forearms were tanned and firm. Newt wanted, more than anything, to touch and to be touched.

And then Percival was crouching over him and between his legs, his hands at Newt's fly, and his mouth at Newt's ear. "You're a sight," he murmured slipping the trousers down and stroking his hands firmly down Newt's thighs. Then, "Won't you take care of me, mama?"

The word in Percival's mouth did something to Newt, something unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Him calling himself mummy when looking after his beasts had been wholly to do with taking a caregiving role, and nothing to do with what got him raunchy. But Percival calling him _mama_ felt filthy in some way, and at the same time still made him feel just as needed and wanted as it usually did. His chest went warm at the way Percival looked at him expectantly, and he let it spread until he felt heated all over.

"I'll take care of you," he replied softly, hands going for Percival's collar. "Let me look after you."

He undressed Percival slowly, tracing curious fingers along the skin that was revealed bit by bit. Percival had scars, but unlike his, they were probably collected through battle. Newt's scars were fond reminders of feisty beasts he saved, or sometimes less fond reminders of the beasts he couldn't save in time, but Newt didn't think Percival's were like that at all.

There were small ones, everything from faded white lines to discoloured skin, but when Newt removed Percival's shirt he found a thick, pink scar that started at the bottom of Percival's ribs and wound up around his back. Newt let his fingers map the scar where his eyes couldn't reach, explored the way it ran up until it glanced at the edge of Percival's scapula, and then curved back down until it ended under his other arm. He moved achingly slowly, his face almost too near Percival's neck, so he could hear the slightest hitch in the Auror's breath.

"He got me by surprise," Percival murmured eventually. His voice had gone shockingly deep, so much so that Newt swore he could feel it in his chest. He didn't reply, but pressed a kiss to Percival's Adam's apple, and then pushed him to lie on his back. He scooted backwards until he was sitting on Percival's thighs, and unbuttoned his slacks. As he pulled down he freed the man's erection, and couldn't help but blush at the sight of it.

It was large. Newt felt too shy to say, but it was perhaps the largest cock he'd seen, never mind taken, and he felt both incredible arousal and slight trepidation at the sight. He stared at it for perhaps a second too long, and then let himself reach out and run his fingers along the shaft. He started off delicately, but before long he had his fingers wrapped around Percival's cock, and only looked back up when he heard Percival groan at the feeling.

Percival seemed smug, like he knew Newt couldn't help being a little bewitched by the sight of him. He cupped the backs of Newt's thighs, pushing him closer into himself, until Newt's arse was positioned just above Percival's cock. His legs were spread wide over the bulk of Percival's hips, and it was only because he was clothed still that Percival's cock wasn't at his hole. But Percival didn't seem impeded at all—Newt's trousers had been loosened, and Percival wasted no time in taking advantage of that. He slid his hands up, and then down the back of Newt's trousers. His fingers dipped under the elastic of Newt's underwear, Newt's _panties_ , and then he was probing meaningfully at Newt's arse.

And Newt, understanding what he meant, climbed off Percival to lean over to his bedside table. There, in the upper drawer, he had a vial of oil, which he swiftly handed back to the Auror.

But Percival didn't let Newt get back on top. As it happened now, Percival was crouched above Newt and soon enough Newt had his trousers stripped off him. He couldn't help but feel unbearably bashful—it was one thing when his underwear was hidden away, unseen by anyone except for perhaps the smallest hint. It was another thing altogether to have them revealed to someone in such a fashion, so that Percival could look down and see the way they curved around his legs and hips and the way his cock pushed obscenely against the soft, silky fabric. And oh, how Percival's eyes roamed! He seemed to have no shame or hesitation in him, his eyes tracing the lace against Newt's pale skin like it obsessed him.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and then smiled somewhat wickedly. "Such a large vial of oil so close to your bed, mama, how often do you fuck yourself open?"

He unbuttoned Newt's shirt as he said this, and laughed when Newt went red with embarrassment. "How often?" He asked again, pushing Newt's thighs up and apart. "How often do you need a cock and make do with your own hand?"

And Newt, feeling a little more adventurous, said, "I don't just use my fingers."

Percival smile widened, like Newt had said something both surprising and pleasing. He dipped his fingers in the oil Newt had given him, and with his other hand pulled the back of his panties to the side. This way, the fabric pulled tight against Newt's cock, and Percival had a perfect view of Newt's bare arse. Percival wasted no time, sliding his middle finger in smoothly. It was almost too quick, the motion so void of any hesitation that Newt didn't really expect to feel it yet. He clenched around Percival's finger, pushing into it and all-too-conscious of the way the fabric of his underwear pulled tight against his sex.

"You're doing well, doll," Percival murmured. A second finger slipped in, spreading Newt just a little wider. "Next time, I'll fuck you silly on those toys of yours too."

Newt felt almost too hot too bear. He covered his face with his hands, the sleeves falling to his fingers now that his shirt was undone, feeling his boldness leave him as quickly as it had come. Newt was no stranger to profanity, of course, but on Percival's lips—Percival, who seemed otherwise so proper and gentlemanly—it sounded much more explicit than it would if anybody else had said it. And Percival said the words like a promise, but also, oddly, like an endearment. Newt didn't know quite how to react.

What he did notice was that he was feeling every touch of Percival's much more keenly than he had any right to. He'd taken more than a mere two fingers before, multiple times, but with Percival the sensation felt more intense than he ever remembered it being before. He gasped wantonly, slowly losing his senses to Percival's deft touches, and then Percival was pulling his fingers from Newt's body.

As he did so, Newt felt unbearably loose and open. He wrapped his legs around Percival's waist, and despite his usual timidness, pushed his heels into the man's back to hurry him along. Percival bent down and laughed into his mouth, and pressed the head of his cock to Newt's hole. Newt felt the pressure, the stretch as Percival pushed just the tip inside, and then the emptiness as he withdrew. He arched into Percival, and without meaning to, whined at him.

"Do you want it?" Percival murmured into his ear. He thrust his cock forward, but didn't move Newt's panties, so it just slide down the shape of his arse, against the soft fabric. Newt pushed his heels into Percival's back again, wanting to say yes, wanting to tell Percival how much he wanted it, but feeling much too abashed.

Percival thrust again. His cock was a heavy, delicious weight against him, and Newt felt his desire mounting. "Tell me how much you want it, mama," Percival said.

And Newt, hungry in a way he hadn't been for so long, admitted, "I want you inside of me."

Percival slid in slowly enough that Newt could feel every inch, and everything down to the most minute stretch of his hole around Percival's cock. Once he'd pushed his cock all the way in, he paused, looking down at Newt and smiling at the way his eyes fluttered. Newt just felt so _full_ , so desirable and attractive, that he couldn't really think of anything outside of the shape and weight and heat of Percival's cock.

Percival set a fast pace right from the start, fucking into Newt with an eagerness he hadn't expected to be privy to. He fucked Newt hard, thrusting his hips up so hard Newt wondered if he'd bruise tomorrow. And when that didn't seem like enough, he grabbed both of Newt's thighs, and pushed them up as far as they'd go.

Newt gasped with the sensation, moaning as Percival fucked into him even deeper. Percival's face was going red with his arousal, but despite the stamina it must have taken to keep up his speed, he didn't seem at all fatigued. Newt found himself admiring the way his muscles worked, the strength in his every movement, the thickness of his body. He let Percival maneuver him as he pleased, and delighted in the ease with which he did so.

Before long, Percival was pressing his legs together and hooking them over his shoulder. He thrust into Newt like that, and Newt whined at the feeling—he couldn't help it. Like this, Percival seemed even thicker, his cock filling him up until Newt felt like he could burst.

"You're so tight, doll," Percival murmured. "So good for me, so _wet_ for me mama, love how good you are to me." His voice was coming in gasps now, and Newt knew he was nearing his orgasm. He felt the telltale tightening in his own belly too, and started rolling his hips up to meet Percival's thrusts.

At this, Percival leaned down, pressing Newt's legs back on himself. Percival's large, warm hands were all over the backs of Newt's thighs, pressing hard into the soft skin as he fucked into him. Newt felt like his entire world had narrowed down to there, to the places where Percival's weight and cock were pressing into him.

"Oh, fuck me, fuck me," Newt moaned, unable to stop himself. He tried to reach for Percival, but with his own legs in the way, settled for the bedsheets instead. He felt hot and sensitive, and his orgasm was a rising tide in his belly that slowly overwhelmed all of his senses. He reached down to his own cock, desperate now to come, but Percival slapped it away without a word. Newt wanted to protest, but before the thought had even fully formed, Percival had wrapped his own hand around Newt's swollen cock.

It only took a couple of strokes, then Newt was arching his back and coming. He didn't know what he shouted, only that he was rather loud as he orgasmed, and that it prompted Percival to fuck into him even faster. Soon after, he was coming too, his hips stuttering in their movement as he did. Newt could feel the heat and wetness of his come filling him. It was a feeling that should have been uncomfortable, but Newt couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of it, and the way it served as a stark reminder of what Percival had just done to him.

Percival pulled out of his arse gently. Newt watched lazily as Percival finally removed his underwear—now a ruined scrap of material, and laid a kiss just below Newt's navel.

"I'll buy you a better pair, the best money can buy," he murmured, as if Newt would have protested his treatment of the garment. Newt smiled, half-asleep already, and pressed himself close to Percival's warm body.

He'd like another pair, but more than that, he liked the implication that Percival would stick around.

* * *

The next day, Newt woke up to the smell of coffee and fresh bread. He wandered downstairs bleary-eyed, barely managing to snag himself a random shirt as he passed the doorway and shuffled down the stairs. Percival sat at his kitchen island, leisurely sipping from a cup as he read a newspaper Newt didn't subscribe to.

He was dressed for work, everything immaculate from the way his hair had been slicked back to the shine of his shoes. Newt considered hurrying back to his room to get properly dressed before Percival noticed him, but it was too late—the man was an Auror after all, sharp-eyed and aware. He looked up as soon as Newt had stepped into the room, and smiled.

"Good morning," he greeted. His eyes were soft, and as they wandered up Newt's bare legs, became deliciously heated.

"Good morning."

Percival turned towards Newt properly, putting the newspaper away. "I made coffee," he said needlessly. "The bread is from the bakery two blocks down. I brought you a croissant too, in case you wanted one."

Newt smiled at him. "Thank you," he said, his voice softer than he wanted it to be. He shouldn't be acting so demure with Percival, not now after what they'd gotten up to last night. But somehow, last night memories only exacerbated his timidity, and he found that it was hard to look Percival in the eye without remembering the things he'd said yesterday.

Percival sighed heavily, and Newt heard the crisp clacking of his shoes as he walked to stand before him. His hand went to Newt's chin, lifting it so they were looking each other in the face. "I have to go," he said, "but I was hoping to see exactly where you were keeping those Occamy."

That should have been expected, but it hadn't been. Newt wondered what to say, trying to figure out if he was hurt that he wasn't a priority or just worried about his beasts. But before he could get a word out, Percival had pressed a chaste, sweet kiss to his lips.

"I hope to see you then, too," he murmured lowly. Newt nodded, flushed and inordinately pleased, and Percival straightened smartly. "Good day, Mr Scamander," he said.

"I'll see you tonight, Mr Graves," Newt replied, unable to fight the smile that stretched across his face. He showed Percival out, and remained in the entrance hall for an embarrassingly long time after the door had shut behind him, sighing like a lovesick teenager. He might have stayed there for much longer, except Dougal chose that moment to find and bother him for breakfast.

So, laughing, Newt left his post by the door, and set to feeding his beasts. He couldn't help but anticipate that night.


End file.
